as a slight
twitching at the corners of his lips. He looked like a man who was
inwardly enjoying some huge joke.

CHAPTER VIII

UP THE MOUNTAIN

Richard, passing the Hotel de Paris that evening in his wicked-looking
grey racing car, saw Hunterleys standing on the steps and pulled up.

"Not going up to La Turbie, by any chance?" he enquired.

Hunterleys nodded.

"I'm going up to the dinner," he replied. "The hotel motor is starting
from here in a few minutes."

"Come with me," Richard invited.

Hunterleys looked a little doubtfully at the long, low machine.

"Are you going to shoot up?" he asked. "It's rather a dangerous road."

"I'll take care of you," the young man promised. "That hotel 'bus will
be crammed."

They glided through the streets on to the broad, hard road, and crept
upwards with scarcely a sound, through the blue-black twilight. Around
and in front of them little lights shone out from the villas and small
houses dotted away in the mountains. Almost imperceptibly they passed
into a different atmosphere. The air became cold and exhilarating. The
flavour of the mountain snows gave life to the breeze. Hunterleys
buttoned up his coat but bared his head.

"My young friend," he said, "this is wonderful."

"It's a great climb," Richard assented, "and doesn't she just eat it
up!"

They paused for a moment at La Turbie. Below them was a chain of
glittering lights fringing the Bay of Mentone, and at their feet the
lights of the Casino and Monte Carlo flared up through the scented
darkness. Once more they swung upwards. The road now had become narrower
and the turnings more frequent. They were up above the region of villas
and farmhouses, in a country which seemed to consist only of bleak
hill-side, open to the winds, wrapped in shadows. Now and then they
heard the tinkling of a goat bell; far below they saw the twin lights of
other ascending cars. They reached the plateau at last and drew up
before the club-house, ablaze with cheerful lights.

"I'll just leave the car under the trees," Richard declared. "No one
will be staying late."

Hunterleys unwound his scarf and handed his coat and hat to a page-boy.
Then he stood suddenly rigid. He bit his lip. His wife had just issued
from the cloak-room and was drawing on her gloves. She saw him and
hesitated. She, too, turned a little paler. Slowly Hunterleys approached
her.

"An unexpected pleasure," he murmured.

"I am here with Mr. Draconm